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Wingman rule number two: never reveal how much you want them. Lex hates Gabi. Gabi hates Lex. But, hey, at least the hate is mutual, right? All Lex has to do is survive the next few weeks training Gabi in all the ways of Wingmen Inc. and then he can be done with her. But now that they have to work together, the sexual tension and fighting is off the charts. He isn’t sure if he wants to strangle her or throw her against the nearest sturdy table and have his way with her. But Gabi has a secret, something she’s keeping from not just her best friend but her nemesis too. Lines are blurred as Lex becomes less the villain she’s always painted him to be…and starts turning into something more. Gabi has always hated the way she’s been just a little bit attracted to him—no computer-science major should have that nice of a body or look that good in glasses—but “Lex Luthor” is an evil womanizer. He’s dangerous. Gabi should stay far, far away. Then again, she’s always wanted a little danger.

a Rafflecopter giveawayRachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers! Want to be kept up to date on new releases? Text MAFIA to 66866! You can connect with her on Facebook www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken or join her fan group Rachel's New Rockin Readers. Her website is www.rachelvandykenauthor.com . FACEBOOK / TWITTER / GOODREADS / AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE / NEWSLETTER

Permission to Land (The Great Outdoors Series Book 3) by Shayne McClendon Fear can blind you from what you need. When Shawn Clay steps on The Sweetest Thing for a three-day fishing charter, he never expects to develop an instant infatuation with Chaz Harding. Years of military service as a gay man taught him patience and he’s going to give everything he has to showing a man with a brutal past that he deserves peace and love. Chaz Harding hides from the world behind a wall of self-imposed isolation. His focus is on his twin sister Dakota and their little brother Erick, growing their charter business, and maintaining a low profile. He knows all too well what a man like him risks if he takes chances on the wrong relationship. Despite his intense attraction to Shawn Clay, he crushes down all possibilities and continues to hide who he is. The former Navy SEAL is ready to show him that some risks come with fantastic rewards and that love is worth fighting for…side by side. Another hot, emotional installment of the "The Great Outdoors" series you're going to love by Always the Good Girl, Shayne McClendon. NOTE: This fighter romance contains explicit sexual scenes and language and is intended for mature 18+ readers only. Do not read this novel if explicit sexual content offends you. This is a novella of more than 38,000 words and does not end in a cliffhanger. Amazon US: https://amzn.com/B01JUS788EAmazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01JUS788EAmazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01JUS788EAmazon AU: http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01JUS788E Follow Shayne McClendon on Facebook athttp://facebook.com/AlwaystheGoodGirl and hit the subscribe button for her newsletter and receive your copy of herBRAND NEW FREE STORY: Choice of Subjects: Riya's prequel in to The Barter System series today! This and so much more at: www.alwaysthegoodgirl.com

Carley Downs has been mistakenly abducted by the Guatemalan drug cartel. Not realizing they have the first daughter to the United States in their possession, the cartel contemplates the fate of Carley and her friends.

Matthew McWain, former U.S. Marine Corps Force Recon, a highly decorated pilot and expert on “snatch and grab” operations, has been requested to conduct a rescue operation to fly Carley out of Guatemala. Matthew quickly discovers time is running out before the cartel delivers Carley into the hands of a notoriously brutal Iranian terrorist who will certainly recognize her. Matthew knows he has to locate the president’s daughter before the exchange is made. If not, he will be in for the fight of his life preventing the Iranian madman from taking Carley out of the country!

“This author has got something going! I love high adventure books, and this one was great. Thumbs up Mr. Sparks. Keep them coming!!” ~ Amazon Customer – 5 stars

“A smart film agent would be busy putting this author and his book under contact! Truly believe the author has just introduced his readers to the next all-American heroes. Certainly I am looking forward to the sequel and I WILL buy a hardback copy.” ~ Amazon Customer – 5 stars

Prologue

30 Miles North of CobánGuatemala
Carley Downs seldom had doubts about her decisions. But now as she sat along the dusty roadside, wiping sweat and grime from the back of her neck and running the soaked bandana through her tangled hair, the thought ever so briefly crossed her mind. She had taken refuge in the shade but the scorching mid-morning sun peeking through the trees merely added to the oppressive humidity. If there was anything good to be said about their current predicament it would be the absence of that damp fetid smell and fewer insects since they’d begun climbing up the winding road from the jungle floor.
“Why did I ever let you talk me into coming down to this gosh awful place?” Carley asked her female companion sitting beside her. The two shared a large flat rock a good 40 feet down the road from their broken down vehicle. There was a large outcropping of boulders along this stretch of road that seemed to keep the indigenous oak and cedar trees from growing no larger than the live oaks back home in northern Arizona. Carley grew up on a ranch where she spent far more time climbing trees and doing tom-boy stuff than being a little girl, grease up to her elbows from keeping her grandpa’s antique tractor running, helping her mom mucking out the stables or brushing one of the horses. Always being a little gutsy probably led her to this day.
“Yeah, right,” Jordan Scott answered with a glimmer of a smile in her eyes, “as if anyone ever talked Carley Downs into anything.”
“Well, you could have tried a little harder,” Carley laughed, reaching down for a stick to draw squiggles in the powdery dirt. Just as quickly growing impatient, she threw the stick over the far side of the road where it dropped a couple hundred feet down the steep bank. She let out a big sigh. It was far too quiet, too desolate on this hot dusty road. She was angry at herself for letting the missionary guys talk her into taking the back roads loaded with ruts like her grandma’s old washboard instead of the paved highway. Carley had an equal say as to which routes they would take, but they’d convinced her this shortcut would save many miles and cut the driving time by an hour. Obviously that wasn’t working.
“How long does it take to change a stinking tire, anyway?” Carley asked, resting her elbows on her knees and staring up the road where their three male companions fussed over the vehicle in the hot sun.
“Too darn long, considering it’s the third flat and only two spares.” Jordan tried to put a good spin on it, but failed miserably.
It was a beat up 1974 Land Cruiser, two-tone gray with rusty dents in both front fenders and a hole in the muffler that made it sound like a Sherman tank while smoking up the interior so that even with all the windows down it was pretty obnoxious. The vehicle had seen better days and was now a major source of irritation for the entire team. The 4X4 had somehow taken them north to the Petén region near San Benito, and nearly every Mayan village and wide spot in the road in between over the past several weeks. They were now on the way back to their base of operations in Cobán to resupply and for a little down-time before heading out again. So far on this trip they had two blown radiator hoses, a water pump and now the third flat tire. If Carley didn’t know better, she’d assume her dad was somehow behind all the bad luck.
That thought amused her, and she smiled as she remembered the agitated furl of his brow when he’d finally learned she had taken this assignment. Very much like the look he’d given her when she had first informed him she was joining the Peace Corps. She’d always been his little “free spirit” so he knew better than to try talking her out of it then, but telling him about this assignment would have been an entirely different story and she knew better than to give him an advanced warning. Her daddy succeeded at everything he did, from ranching to business to politics, and, by golly, she was of the same stubborn stock as he. Her decision to become a medical doctor had been a great source of pride for her dad, but he had been mildly disappointed by her insistence to transfer from his old alma mater at Arizona State University to complete her medical schooling at UCLA. But her insistence on doing some of her resident work in the Peace Corps was the last thing her father expected. No one saw that coming. Why couldn’t she be a little more stable and predictable like her older brother? Was his first response.
The assignment was a one-year contract promising nearly a full range of medical cases she could handle – and plenty of them. It sounded a lot more adventurous than cooped up in some hospital. Besides, nowhere in the States could Carley get this kind of experience as quickly. If it worked out as she figured, she just might stay with the Peace Corps. Wouldn’t that pretty well send the famous Harlan Downs into apoplexy?
Jordan Scott was the second half of the medical team and had proven to be a capable assistant to Carley. Even though she’d not had formal nurse training, the limited emergency medical training she’d received seemed sufficient enough for her to pass as a doctor’s assistant, especially to the eyes of an untrained observer. The two women hadn’t started out as close friends, but after being close companions for the two years that Jordan had been part of the protection detail for Carley their fondness for one another had grown out of mutual respect.
The two were alike in some ways, yet a complete contrast. Anyone who knew the family said the 28 year old Carley Downs was a dead ringer for her paternal grandmother, a petite full-blooded Navajo; a very stunning woman whose Indian name was Doli, which meant “Bluebird” in Navajo. Carley had the same smooth bronze skin, delicate features, prominent cheekbones and a slight aquiline nose. Her distinguishing feature however, was striking pale blue eyes like the color of ice water, yet filled with warmth and compassion; eyes produced by genes so strong it reached back through generations of Grandma Downs’ ancestors. Her shoulder length raven black hair was shorter than Grandma Downs and Carley preferred to wear it in a ponytail, just as Grandma Doli did when she didn’t have it braided into pigtails.
Jordan Scott, a few inches taller at 5 feet 8 inches and a few years older, wore her auburn hair short, her hazel eyes had dozens of tiny gold specks that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Both women were slender and athletic, serious outdoor people.
The three men rounding out the five-person Peace Corps team were Christian missionaries, non-denominational except for Carley’s favorite, a huge man named Paul Moore. Moore was a strong Southern Baptist from Sedalia, Missouri. His personality set him apart from the others, serious when the situation dictated, humorous in the face of adversity, and always with a positive outlook. Even now with everyone drenched in sweat, complaining of the ever-present heat and humidity, only Paul Moore could make jokes about how the stench of their combined body odor had managed to kill every living creature in a five-mile radius. It was hard for Carley to picture Moore as a missionary, yet she had seen him in action, showing such great compassion as he taught the word of God among the poor villagers, or holding a screaming mother in his massive arms, comforting her while Carley fought so hard to keep the woman’s child from dying. The man was an incredible tower of strength, both physically and emotionally.
Carley observed him now, his shirt off, sweat streaking down his powerful shoulders and chest, muscles bulging as he lifted one end of the Land Cruiser completely off the ground while the other two guys wedged the jack under the rear axle. She could easily visualize him on the gridiron where he had reportedly made a pretty decent living in the NFL as a defensive end till a blown knee took him out of the game. The athletes she knew would have complained bitterly and probably blame everyone for their ended career, but Moore had told her in a gentle voice, his soft brown eyes watering, that it was merely God’s way of telling him he’d been denying his Savior’s calling far too long.
The group had accomplished some amazing things over the past weeks and Carley was more than satisfied. In her opinion each member of the team complimented the other in their respective tasks; with the added bonus of it being a pretty fun group to be with.
Carley turned to face Jordan and was suddenly startled, causing her to grab Jordan’s arm. Above them, crouched on top of the rocks not ten feet away sat one of the locals. Her breath caught in her chest, eyes riveted upon the man. The imagine Carley had was someone right out of Francisco “Poncho” Villa days, with the bandolier across his barrel chest and unruly tufts of black and gray hair poking out from under his wide hat. He was wearing green camo fatigues and had a large belly hanging over his belt; his beard was stained with tobacco juice.
Carley’s sudden fright caused Jordan to jerk around, and the very first thing Jordan noticed was the AK-47 assault rifle in the man’s hands, the muzzle pointing up in the air with the stock resting on one leg, his finger was on the trigger. They’d been warned about banditos who sometimes frequented the back roads for easy prey, but there was something far too confident and sinister in his stare to identify him as a bandit.
“Hey, señoritas, I theenk maybe the sun be too hot for your pretty soft skin, eh?” His English was broken and heavily accented and the yellow, tobacco-stained teeth, several missing in the front, added to his menacing appearance. The men working on the Land Cruiser quickly turned with a look of shock and concern on their faces.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Jordan demanded, feeling Carley’s grip tighten on her arm, her nails digging in.
“Jordan…?”
“Its okay Carley just stay calm,” Jordan said in a low voice. I’ve got to take control of this situation.
At first it appeared the man was alone, but suddenly another appeared at his side. This one was dressed nearly the same but was much younger and even more menacing with a maniacal glare to his dark eyes. Jordan glanced back at their vehicle where she’d left her shoulder bag. She could see the green quilted bag on the rear seat through the open door and was thinking of a way to get to it, just as a third man appeared from around the front of the Land Cruiser. Both of the newcomers had AK-47’s like the first, aimed directly at the missionaries.
The appearance of his two cohorts caused Toothless to throw his head back and roar with laughter. He spit a load of tobacco juice right at Jordan, part of the wad spilling onto his scraggly beard, and said, “That’s right, pretty señorita, I theenk it is good idea if everyone do exactly as I say and no one will geet hurt.” His voice laced with contempt, his smile turned into a sneer.
“So what is it you want from us?” Jordan asked again. “We have no money with us. We are headed back to Cobán because our supplies are nearly gone…”
“Jordan, I’ll take care of this,” Paul Moore said. He took a step forward before being gruffly motioned back by the man standing next to Toothless.
“I talk to ze pretty señorita, señor, so pleeze do not interrupt again,” Toothless said. He then turned back to Jordan, “We are not interested in your money, pretty señorita.”
“Okay, then, what is it you want from us?”
“You, pretty señorita! I theenk maybe I take all of you with me,” Toothless’s grin went ear to ear before breaking out in roaring laughter.
“That’s not gonna happen, mister…” Paul Moore took two steps forward, his fists clinched, and the man next to toothless opened fire. A three-shot burst from the automatic rifle sent the missionary flying backward onto the ground; he lay motionless, the dry earth turned red with blood.
Carley jumped from the sudden gunshots and screamed, clutching Jordan’s arm to her as she began to whimper. The other two missionaries stood still, shocked, their eyes darting back and forth to their friend lying in a growing pool of his own blood, then to Toothless and the insane man who had shot their brother in Christ.
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” Jordan screamed. “This is a man of God! He meant you no harm!” Jordan would give anything if she could get closer to the bandit leader, better still if she could get to her bag. She touched the sat phone on her waist.
Old Toothless saw Jordan’s movement and immediately reached out and snatched the phone from her belt. He said with a mean scowl on his face, “Now if everyone do as I say maybe that won’t happen again.” He softened into his big grin and added, “Now, everyone, we be on our way!”
Carley recovered from her initial shock, jumped up and bounded toward the bleeding missionary.
“Stop!” Toothless growled
“GO TO HELL! You barbaric worthless pile of dog crap! This man needs help,” Carley yelled over her shoulder, taking two more steps before another three-round burst blasted into the sky. Carley froze in her tracks.
“I tell you to stop, pretty señorita. The next shot will not go in air. Now back up or else.” Toothless leveled his assault rifle at Carley’s midsection.
Carley remained frozen, defiant, glaring at the bandit.
“Carley, come here,” said Jordan. Her voice was soft but filled with authority, convincing Carley to move back to Jordan’s side. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Jordan glanced again at her bag in the SUV, but she saw the man behind the missionaries collecting their personal things. What will happen when they discover a nurse carrying a .40 caliber Glock 23 pistol? She trembled with the thought.
~~~~~~~~~Washington, DC
Within the hour the United Sates Secret Service was buzzing over an undetermined threat to Caduceus.

America is under attack! The horrifying fear of Islamic terrorists invading the United States has come to reality.

Former U.S. Marine Recon aviator Matthew McWain Matt must locate Ahmad Hassam’s secret headquarters before the master terrorist turns his trained warriors and suicide bombers loose on American civilians in a diabolical plan of brutal attacks.

It’s a race against time when Matt discovers the attacks are only a diversion. The real threat behind Operation Firestorm is a catastrophic plot that will devastate the nation. Matthew is torn between duty and allegiance to his family when he learns Hassam has a very personal agenda.

“The characters are strong – well developed. It is easy to feel comfortable and at ease with old friends. Operation Firestorm will grip you and keep you reading.” ~ Amazon Customer – 5 stars

“So glad I found this book's author. Operation Firestorm is a Class A book.” ~ Amazon Customer – 5 stars

“Absolutely a non stop riveting action book. Was absolutely fantastic in the twist and turns in the action making you wonder what was going to happen next. I cannot wait till the next one comes out.” ~ Amazon Customer – 5 stars

Prologue

U.S. CapitolWashington, D.C.
Juan Alvarez nervously checked his watch for the third time in the past few minutes. He tried not to be too obvious so JD, the rookie officer he had requested today, would not take notice.Two minutes, fifteen seconds …
Alvarez was a wreck. He was only thirty-eight, but the lines etched in his face made him look ten years older. His once glossy black hair was dull and hints of gray lined his temples. He was at least thirty pounds overweight and developing a noticeable paunch around the midsection. His olive complexion had an almost gray pallor. Alvarez promised himself that if he lived through this ordeal, he would start eating right and working out again.
He was sweating beneath his winter uniform and he prayed to Allah that the perspiration would not show on his face. That would be a dead give-away of his nervousness. He looked up and caught his subordinate watching him. He smiled and then glanced again at his watch again.One minute, forty-five seconds …
Alvarez glanced across the marble floor in time to see another tour come through the large glass doors from the Capitol Visitors Center east entrance. The group would funnel through the security lane staffed by Alvarez and JD and pass by the metal detector before placing briefcases and other carry-in items onto the X-Ray conveyor. Alvarez managed to turn the alarm function to the security system off without JD noticing. Thirty seconds…
This was going to work out great, he hoped! Alvarez pushed back his rising anxiety, offered a smile to the approaching tour group, and began delivering the required greeting that visitors to the U.S. Capitol expected from the Capitol Police.Zero time!
The noise behind him was right on schedule and Alvarez smiled to himself. The raucous teenagers coming down the cordoned section next to the east wall created the perfect distraction, which caused JD to focus on those coming into the Capitol, not those exiting the building, all according to plan. As the large school group spilled out of the rotunda into the Visitors Center and on to the line of yellow buses waiting alongside the curb at the east entrance, JD failed to notice several of the departing visitors were a lot less bulky under their down-filled coats than when they entered the Capitol two hours before.
Not all in the noisy group were high school students. The field trip had been
infiltrated as they entered the Visitors Center by seven young men who could easily pass
as teenagers. With their dark hair color and skin and learned mannerisms, they also
passed for Hispanics, like Alvarez had been doing for a really long time.
It would be very unlikely that Juan Alvarez would have become a 12-year veteran of the U.S. Capitol Police should anyone have discovered his real name, Rahimi Musa. Even more unlikely would he have been promoted to the rank of sergeant, in charge of south wing security for the Capitol, and setting the day-shift staffing schedule.
Alvarez had purposely scheduled the rookie, JD, to be on the entrance security checkpoint with him today. He also purposely scheduled Adolofo Mena, aka Saeed Jalil, to the security checkpoint on the second floor, south wing, at the House Chamber gallery.
No one had a clue that Alvarez and Mena were sleeper agents.
As Alvarez watched the young men leave, he noted how well they intermingled with the large group of students, ignoring his scrutiny as they were trained to do. Alvarez allowed himself another smile and let his nervous jitters melt away.
Today was dress rehearsal. Alvarez and Mena would collect the left-behind items when they went on break. But in two weeks it would be for real. They would have no need to retrieve the left-behind items. In two weeks only four of the young terrorists would be leaving with the school group, instead of all seven.
~~~~~~~Mall of AmericaBloomington, Minnesota
One of the largest indoor shopping malls in the United States is the Mall of America,
located in Bloomington, Minnesota. The shopping mega-giant is visited by nearly 40
million shoppers annually and contains over 4 million square feet of retail space on 4 floors; plus an incredible 7-acre amusement park on the bottom floor known as Nickelodeon Universe, a 300 foot curved tube known as the Sea Life Aquarium, and a themed food court. The second floor was principally noted for hundreds of shops of every variety, while the third and fourth floors boasted several more large food courts, a number of elegant restaurants for fine dining, and a few nightclubs for dancing and informal activities.
The place was virtually a city within a city.
It was also a target.
Mustafa Kalil set the timer on his stop watch as he entered through the main door at a brisk pace. Close on his heels were four more team members, all carrying backpacks, all laughing and cutting up. To the aging security guard standing near the railing inside the main lobby they were just another group of young hooligans playing grab-ass and acting stupid.
Without being too obvious, Kalil sized up the guard. He knew there were approximately thirty-five guards in and around the mall this time of day, employees of the private security company contracted by the mall. Each guard was armed with a Glock handgun, taser, mace, radio and handcuffs. Undoubtedly, a few would consider themselves to be super cops and carried a second gun strapped to an ankle. Earlier visits confirmed the guards were neither extra vigilant nor overly suspicious. They were obviously instructed to smile a lot and be helpful ambassadors to mall visitors. Dealing with shoplifting pretty much summed up their police powers. As far as Kalil knew, none
wore protective body armor. That might pay huge dividends on the next visit.
Kalil and his group headed straight for the escalators, laughing and pointing
excitedly as they descended to the lower level. Once there, they split up, each proceeding to his designated location within the amusement park complex and, of course, a predetermined place to deposit their backpacks for maximum affect.
Today the backpacks were filled only with books and each man would carry his pack out as he left the premises. When they return the backpacks would be extremely lethal, and would be left behind as the men departed individually by a different escalator.
Kalil knew his team was not alone. They had discussed and rehearsed the operation with two other groups, over and over again, pouring through volumes of building plans and blueprints. A total of fifteen terrorists were inside the Mall of America at that precise moment. The other groups entered using separate side entrances and had their own specific level within the gigantic structure in which to leave their deadly cargo. And just like Kalil and his team, they too were part of today’s dress rehearsal.
The operation went smoothly, efficiently, and exactly as Kalil and the other team leaders had been told it would. In precisely 17 minutes, he saw the last member of his team exit the main entrance and dash toward the parking lot. Kalil smiled as he pressed the button on his stopwatch and his cell phone vibrated. Each team was reporting in.
They would celebrate tonight. In two weeks they would return for the live
performance.
~~~~~~~~~Grand PalaceBranson, Missouri
Local entertainers and business leaders branded it America as it should be! Branson, Missouri, the heartland of America. The live music capital of the United States; located, most assuredly, in the heart of the Bible Belt. A vacation Mecca where visitors were assured of wholesome family entertainment and where the name of God and Jesus Christ were spoken reverently and unashamedly. Where the Red, White and, Blue waved proudly as each of the nearly 100 live daily shows celebrated America’s veterans during every performance.
Branson, a town of 10,000 residents and upwards of 60,000 daily visitors, continued to be one of the top ten destinations in America year after year. Seven million visitors annually traveled to the modern marvel located in the rich Ozark Mountains in southwest Missouri to see the diverse and modern entertainment venues. It was a place to totally relax, to be inexorably detached from the pressures of life, and feel completely safe.
The Grand Palace was the largest of the live entertainment theaters with over 4,000 seats. The Palace, located on the main strip known as Country Music Boulevard, was a huge, white colonnaded structure, with a wide, covered veranda. The enormous lobby with twin spiral staircases and exquisite golden chandeliers elicited an initial impression of an old southern plantation, but inside the large auditorium was state-
of-the-art theater technology.
The theater had fallen on hard times some years back and the beautiful chandeliers had remained dark for many seasons. A few attempts had failed to rekindle the grand dame of Branson, but lady luck finally smiled favorably on the great icon. A complete restoration was nearing completion. In two short weeks the theater would come alive with lights and laughter. Harmonious strains of music would drift out to the refurbished lobby where the polished lighted chandeliers would once again welcome guests and visitors.
Work inside the theater was at fever pitch as the grand opening grew closer. Rehearsal for entertainers collided with stage hands hustling to learn set changes. Musicians attempting the first round of sound checks struggled to overcome the cacophony of power saws, pounding hammers, and clamoring construction workers.
High on the catwalks directly above the stage, Antonio Morales finalized the continuity tests on the wiring looms. The thirty-two year-old lighting technician worked alone in the tight space, coordinating his progress via handheld radio with the technical supervisor in the control booth located at the rear of the theater. Little did the supervisor know that Tony Morales’ real name was Hashim Sarhan. He also did not know Morales/Sarhan was stringing an additional set of wires and a series of limit switches to the wiring loom that controlled the cluster of moveable wash lights affixed to a single bar.
During dress rehearsal, scheduled in just two short weeks, Sarhan would once again be on the catwalk. This time he would be installing a separate apparatus to each of
the ten canned LED lights for simultaneous operation.
Sarhan leaned back to admire his handiwork and gazed down at the chaos on the
lighted stage as he fumbled for a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.
“I’m gonna take my break up here,” he spoke into the walkie-talkie. He had
learned to fake his accent perfectly.“Okay, but no smoking up there,” the supervisor replied harshly.
“Yeah, right.” The owners were adamant about no smoking inside the theater, but
forty feet up on the catwalk who would be the wiser? He lit up and sucked in a lung full of smoke while picturing ten simultaneous explosions bouncing off the acoustic inner walls of the theater. He could almost hear the horrified screams and wailing. He envisioned the panic and hysteria as people trampled one another while fighting blindly for exits in the darkened, smoke filled theater. The image brought a sinister smile to his lips. He would show them America as it should be!
Sarhan took another drag from the cigarette and reflected on his four roommates. Today they would be acting like tourists while quietly scouting their specific individual target areas. It is best he had not allowed himself to become too close to them. Odds were, they would not survive beyond the first hour of the initial attack.
He stubbed out his cigarette on the metal grating and bent over the wiring loom with one last thought of his companions. No, they were not technically savvy like him. They were foot soldiers. Highly trained, to be sure, very good marksmen, but still just foot soldiers. They would be locked into a pivotal battle at ground zero with maybe a dozen law enforcement agencies breathing down their necks while he would be miles from Branson when the event started.

Carl A. Sparks is grateful for the privilege of being a career firefighter for 42-years. He is also a commercial pilot and certified flight instructor. Carl lives in Branson, Missouri with his lovely wife, Sue. They have a son and daughter and five perfect grandchildren. Teaching his son and one granddaughter to fly are some of God’s many blessings. Besides flying, writing and reading, he enjoys spending time with his family and traveling.

Operation Firestorm is his second published works with fiction, though there have been five previous attempts over the years while puttering with the keyboard in what he describes as a highly undisciplined manner. He is now at work on his third book, The Kinsman.

Chad Henderson and Jon Lasiter were best friends. Their taste in women always caused a problem. They always went after the same woman. Cleo Davenport was older and sophisticated with a bevy of men at her fingertips. She was a high-priced Madame. Chad rejected the lifestyle and Jon embraced it. Both wanted the beautiful older woman in their bed. Could they reach an agreement that would suit all their needs?

What now had caught his attention was the woman with Jon. He let his eyes wander seductively over her. He’d seen imposing women before, but her tall, lithe body and auburn hair took his breath away. As they neared, he honed in on her cat-like emerald green eyes. Son of a bitch, he thought, had his best friend, Jon Lasiter, been holding out on him? The decadent and devious thoughts running through his head caused warning bells to go off as the blood rushed to his cock.
He grinned broadly, catching Jon’s attention. It was obvious he irritated him because that small nervous tic in Jon’s right cheek was in full swing. Chad sat back in his chair and attempted to make eye contact with the beautiful woman, and when he did, their eyes locked.
Now it was Chad who became unnerved as the tip of her pink tongue ran along her full bottom lip. Chad swallowed slowly.
The corner of her mouth rose slightly as she smiled, or was that a smirk? She eyed him carefully from head to toe. He squirmed a bit in his chair from the intensity of her seemingly casual appraisal. Was she was sizing him up? More warning bells rang loudly. Son of a bitch, she was looking him over, perhaps sniffing out her next victim. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled and his cock twinged. The air around him was charged...was he intimidated? If so, this was a first.

Ethan Radcliff has been writing stories since he was a kid. He loves creating and tried his hand at art, but felt he wasn't good enough. Through high school he wrote erotic stories, kept them in a notebook and let a few of his girlfriends read them. He then began writing poetry, which he kept to himself, because most of his poems were based on erotica. His brain never stopped. He became serious about writing erotic romance stories a few years ago and wondered how hard it would be to break through the barrier as a male erotic romance writer.

He delved into the world of BDSM and took a personal journey through the lifestyle, which aided in his writing.

He'd been a face book user for years. He never saw anything interesting until he began to see all the writers and then some poets posting their erotic prose. Men who were writing erotic romance began to crop up. He watched and then began to post a few poems here and there. The response was good and then better. He was being noticed.

He can see a picture and write a poem. He can see an attractive women and conger up a sexy scenario. The jiggle of a full ass or heavy breasts can get him going. His mind is always on an attractive face or body.

His thanks go out to Bitten Press LLC and the two lovely women who run it, for goading him on, telling him to go for it and he did.

His first short story is The Taming of Molly Jenkins. It's hot. Is it based on personal experience? All he can answer is, perhaps. The next short story is The Wait, Britt's Undoing. There will be more. He has a paranormal erotic romance series, Desires of Blood which at the moment is four books strong with three more already planned. Stay tuned for some historical, contemporary and fantasy erotica from him. Yes, and he will continue with some great stories including some BDSM adventures. He has two books of erotic poetry published; they have been an amazing success.

Follow Ethan Radcliff as he continues to entertain you. He can write any genre and intends to broaden his scope as an author in 2016.

His thanks go out to all his readers. Without them he'd still be writing notes in his composition notebook, waiting for that right moment. You made it happen for him.

Casey Evans and Decker Abrams have been best friends since they became neighbors at the age of six. After high school, Casey abruptly leaves their hometown of Charleston, South Carolina for the west coast, leaving Decker wondering where she went and why she left.

Three years later the two are reunited, both harboring some old resentment towards the other. Not to mention, Casey has been hiding a pretty big secret from Decker all those years. Not willing to risk losing Casey again, Decker follows her back to California in an attempt to save their friendship.

Will Casey and Decker work out their issues and be best friends again? Or will they finally become something more?

EXCERPT

"Have your kissed anyone, Casey?" Decker asked after we spread out the blanket and sat down cross-legged at the end of the dock.

I laughed. "No, Deck. Guys don't want to kiss me."

"That's not true," he said.

"Then how come I'm seventeen and I've never been kissed?"

He looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

"Decker?" I asked sternly. What did he do?

"I may have threatened a few of the guys on the team."

"What?! Why? How?" I couldn't believe he did that . No wonder guys never talked to me, let alone kissed me. I knew I was plain and all, but still. There's someone for everyone, right? All those guys that talked to me and he chased away ...

"None of those guys are good enough for you."

"Shouldn't that be for me to decide?" I cross my arms over my chest, downright pissed off now.

"Yeah, I heard you. That's a bunch of crap, Decker. You can't just run interference all my life." If I was sitting, I would have stomped my feet.

"Wanna bet?"

I rolled my eyes. Arguing with him with useless. He was the most stubborn person I knew, next to myself of course.

"Whatever, Decker."

He sighed again. "I want to be your first kiss," he whispered, so quietly I barely heard him.

"What did you just say?"

He looked up at me. "I said I want to be your first kiss."

"What? Why? Decker?" I didn't know what to say. Where was this coming from? Decker wants to kiss me? Why?

"Because when I think back to my first kiss, I want it to be a happy memory. And Casey, all my memories with you are happy ones."

I felt tears well up in my eyes. Well, if that wasn't the sweetest thing Decker Abrams had ever said to me. And I'd be his first kiss, too? Gorgeous Decker Abrams has never kissed a girl?

He groaned at the tears. "Don't cry, Case."

"Happy tears, Deck. Happy tears," I smiled at him.

He grinned that boyish grin I loved so much that always got him out of trouble ... with me and every other female in his life.

"So you've really never kissed a girl before?" I still found that hard to believe, but Decker had never lied to me before.

He shook his head. "No. I wanted it to be special, you know?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I know."

"So can I?" he asked, scooting closer to me on the blanket.

"Can you what?" He moved even closer.

"Kiss you?" I could feel his breath on my face, he was so close.

"Please," I whispered, closing my eyes.

His lips brushed mine and I felt tingles all over my body. His lips were so soft, yet so firm. Suddenly his tongue was pressed against the seam of my lips. It was such a strange sensation. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, but I wanted to taste him, too.

I opened my mouth and our tongues danced against one another. Touching and twisting, each sampling what the other had to offer. He finally put his arms around me and pulled me close to him. The kiss was amazing and seemingly never-ending, despite the awkward position we were twisted into. He eventually ended it with three short pecks on my lips.

As he pulled away we both opened our eyes. He smiled, so did I.

"Wow," I said.

"Wow," he agreed.

"Can we do that again?" I asked.

"Definitely," he wasted no time, leaning in again.

Decker and I made out under the stars for hours that night. Never letting the other get too far away.

It was the start of something beautiful.

But it was also the beginning of the end.

Right Place, Right Time

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Will Be Live: 07.22.16

Kate Dumont is an achiever, completely focused on her future. Playing the role of brilliant pre-med student doesn't leave her much time for anything else. But is she working towards the future she wants, or the future her elitist parents have planned out for her?

Jay Spencer grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. He's made some mistakes, and one in particular will follow him around for the rest of his life. He spends most of his days keeping himself out of trouble by following his passion, riding and repairing motorcycles.

Two lost souls met on the side of a South Carolina highway three years ago, neither one knowing what the other would eventually mean to them. Reunited in California, Kate and Jay feel a pull towards one another they cannot explain.

Will they help each other bring out the best in themselves? Or are their lives too different to even have a chance?

EXCERPT

"Stupid, no good, piece of crap!" I wince as my sandaled foot comes into contact with the unforgiving tire of my hand-me-down Mercedes convertible. My scowl turns into a frown when I pull my foot back and see the black smudge across the white straps. This day just keeps getting worse!

I tip my head back, look up to the clouds, and pray for cell signal. When that doesn't work, I bargain. My first born ... my soul ... good behavior ... even better grades ...

No such luck.

I'm on a quiet stretch of the interstate, between Columbia and Greenville, where there have been too few passerby, not one of them kind enough to pull over and help the damsel in distress. And boy do I look the part of a damsel in distress in a white sundress and sandals with long, dark blonde hair and big, doe-like brown eyes - the picture of innocence.

If it weren't for the hot midday sun beating down on my shoulders, I'd probably be terrified. This whole situation has a classic serial killer vibe to it, add in darkness and I would not be standing outside my vehicle right now.

I lean back against the hot car and sigh. What a day. I drove all the way to Greenville to volunteer at a community clinic's event, just to be informed upon arrival that the event had been rescheduled. They'd posted a notice at the site, which is really helpful when you're one hundred miles away. I frown at my dirty sandal.

Stupid car. Yes, it's a Mercedes, but no, it's not brand new. It's a 1995 model passed down from my father. It has seen many, many better days in its lifetime. My dad has always taken very good care of his cars, hence the reason this fifteen-plus-year-old car is now mine. My parents may be mostly absent from my life, but my dad wouldn't have given me a beater for a car.

Truth is, I probably missed an oil change or something. Whatever. I don't know anything about cars. Ask me to recite all the bones in the human body and I'll do it. Ask me to name one part of a car and you'll get crickets. I'm practically a genius, according to my latest IQ score administered by the director of the "gifted program" at my high school, so I'm sure the mechanics of a car wouldn't be too difficult for me to figure out and understand, but this is one of those instances where I'd rather succumb to the gender stereotypes and just play the clueless female role. There's enough information floating around in my brain without my choosing to add more, though part of me kind of wishes I at least knew how to pop my hood right about now.

Hearing the sound of a vehicle approaching behind me, I spin around to look. Smiling widely, I'm suddenly grateful for my vehicular ignorance and damsel in distress appearance. It's an older sedan, maybe not as old as my hand-me-down, but it doesn't appear to be well kept. I can just make out that the driver is male through the dirty windshield.

Jeez. I hope he's not a serial killer or something? Seriously, Kate? You did not think this through at all.

I open my car door and busy myself looking for something that could be a potential weapon should this turn into Wrong Turn. Empty water bottle, a stack of flyers for another volunteer project I'm working on, a weathered copy of Gone with the Wind ... I eye the book. It's a hardback, it might be my best bet.

I hear a throat clear and pop my head up, narrowly missing bumping it on the roof of my car. I can only see his face over the roof of the car as he's standing on the passenger side, lower in the soft shoulder of the highway. My five foot two inch height doesn't help matters either. But wow, if his face is anything to go by, his body must be amazing. He has the most intense gray eyes, almost silver. His nose looks slightly crooked, like it's been broken once or twice, and he has a strong, squared jaw with subtle stubble. His hair is buzzed very short so I can't quite tell the color but it looks dirty blond, and he's hot - er - sweaty. Yeah, sweaty. His brow is glistening with it.

He's all man and seventeen year old self doesn't quite know what to do with the attraction I feel. I have never felt so nervous around a guy before. Ever. I simply don't have time for this sort of thing. Not with my AP classes, studying, extracurricular activities, volunteer work, and college applications.

"Hey," I smoothly call out to him, if I do say so myself.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smirk and butterflies take flight in my tummy. He doesn't move to come around to my side of the car, which is just find by me. If he were closer, he'd see the slight trembling of my hands and he might actually hear the swarm of butterflies.

"Know anything about cars?"

CHANGE OF HEART

RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer lives in South Carolina with her husband and their four fur-kids. She is in grad school, pursuing a Masters in Psychology for Clinical Counseling. When she is not at work or taking classes, she is either reading or writing. Books have always been a passion. She also enjoys spending time with her family, traveling to new places, and music. She released her debut novel, Our Moon, in June 2015.

He’s a thief and a murderer. Add kidnapping to the list now that he’s taken me, forced me away from my father’s house in the middle of the night. There’s no room for mercy in his dead heart. He’s driven by purpose, and I keep messing up his plans. So he hates me. He punishes me. He’s my captor, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. But then he’s forced to make a decision—keep me or let someone else have me? He’s still my captor, but also a kind of savior now too. Somehow things have changed between us. I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t like it, but he can’t stop the motion from going forward. He wants me in a different way, and it’s killing him to give in to his desires. I’m beginning to see that sometimes even a dead heart, even one belonging to Creed, can be revived.

Sara V. Zook pursued her dream of becoming a writer and after earning her bachelor's degree, sat down to create her first novel in which Strange in Skin was completed in three short months. She's the author of the Strange in Skin Trilogy, Clipped, A Magic Within, Evanescent, Reminiscence, her mobster release, Six Guns, A Chaos Within, and her first contemporary romance, The Pull and its sequel The Push. She resides in Pennsylvania, where she was born and raised, with her husband and three small children.

Title:Weathered Love (The Prick Series Book #2)Author: Tracie RedmondRelease Date: May 27 Hosted by: Always Behind A Book

Life doesn’t come with a weather forecast. There isn’t a report to tell you when a storm is coming. When the dark clouds roll in, you are lost to the depths of your own making.

Camaron Willis only had one person he could count on. One person who could always lift him up. After almost destroying their friendship he has to sit back and watch her marry someone else.

His world is consumed with darkness as the storm clouds wage on in his life. The only escape he can find is at the bottom of a bottle. He works, he drinks, and he sleeps with any woman who is willing to spread her legs. He doesn’t even realize the darkness has consumed him, until he finally catches a break in the clouds and finds a glimpse of light shining through

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Guided Love (The Prick Series Book 1)

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I was born and raised in Northeastern, Pennsylvania where I still live today with my husband and three beautiful children. Like everyone, I have had my ups and downs and have seen my life take a complete change. Previously, I was a working mom putting in 60 hours a week as a Financial Advisor but with the sudden loss of my mom who was my best friend I found myself giving up the suits and meetings for jeans and snack time. I have always had the passion for reading and found an escape through the words of all the talented authors I have read. My passion allowed me the opportunity to blog and to get a wonderful insight into the indie world. I have enormous pride and stay true to the characters and their stories as they reveal themselves to me. I am so excited to have this opportunity to share my stories and hope you love them as much as I do

Rockstar Princess Kat Saunders is enjoying her world tour with the band, RockPlay a little too much. Captured on camera kissing bad boy rocker, Will Van Ryken, her world is about to get turned upside down. When Dane Reynolds, President of Savage Angels MC tries to confront his wife, another kind of hell descends upon him. Guilty, ashamed and disgusted in his own behavior, Dane skips town and heads home to Tourmaline knowing what he must sacrifice for his wife. Will he give up the club, his family, to save his marriage? It seems Will Van Ryken is harboring some dirty secrets of his own and when the Savage Angels receive a tip about his associations with a known drug lord, they instantly fear Kat may be slipping back into old habits. Dane has no intention of giving up on his woman. Can The Grinders and the Savage Angels work together to keep their princess safe from the clutches of this devil in disguise? What will it take for Kat to go running back into the arms of the only man she's ever loved? **Disclaimer: Please note, things are not always as they seem and you will not find cheaters in my books

Kathleen Kelly was born in Penrith, NSW, Australia. When she was four her family moved to Brisbane, QLD, Australia. Although born in NSW she considers herself a QUEENSLANDER!! She married her childhood sweetheart and they live in Toowoomba with their two furry kids. A British Short Hair named Grace and a Burmese named Jack. Kathleen enjoys writing contemporary, romance novels with a little bit of erotica. She draws her inspiration from family, friends and the people around her. She can often be found in cafes writing and observing the locals. If you have any questions about her novels or would like to ask Kathleen a question she can be contacted via e-mail: kathleenkellyauthor@gmail.com or she can be found on Facebook. She loves to be contacted by those that love her books.